


temporary vices

by isaksforelsket



Series: dangerous tales [1]
Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: A much more jaded Isak, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, Blood and Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Size Difference, Strippers & Strip Clubs, and a much more dangerous even, far too much talk about smoking and tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23551117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaksforelsket/pseuds/isaksforelsket
Summary: After helping Isak out one fateful night, Even becomes enraptured by the boy and they enter a relationship filled with far too much danger.---In which Even is a Mob Boss, Isak is a jaded stripper and all they want is to fix each other.
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Series: dangerous tales [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695157
Comments: 25
Kudos: 492





	temporary vices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER
> 
> 1\. Please read the tags before you proceed. I am saying this here as well but this fic will contain some darker topics that some of you may be triggered by. Please be careful and make sure you are not affected by the themes before you read anything. 
> 
> 2\. If you have read the tags and still read it purely for the sake of complaining about the content then I am telling you now your comment will be deleted. This is a product of my own imagination, I am simply exploring some darker topics through fiction, that does not mean I approve of them or agree with these things in real life. This is fiction, please know the distinction between me as an author and creator and me as a person with real morals, these things differ.
> 
> 3\. Some situations may not be realistic, the characters may be OOC, and that is done on purpose. Do not tell me something isn't realistic because my goal here is not to create realism, it is to have fun. And do not tell me the characters are OOC, I know that, I wrote them.
> 
> I will put trigger warnings before some events that I have planned in the fic but know that every single chapter will have connotations of violence, death, non-con, prostitution, etc. And I will update the tags accordingly whenever something happens.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!!!

**14th March**

“I-I was wondering if I could ask you for a favour, Mr Næsheim.”

The lighter flickers in front of him as he hovers it over the edge of the cigarette placed between his lips. Flames alight the edge and he breathes in the hot smoke, chest expanding with the inhale as the source of the fire extinguishes its light. 

A pause. He breathes out; hazy smoke fills his vision when he opens his eyes to the dark surroundings, and yet the nervousness of the man standing in front of him is almost palpable. He can practically taste his fear.

The red lights filling the edges of the room only serve to illuminate the club slightly. The real focus remains on the stage below him, plus, the owner knows anonymity is key when most customers do not wish to be seen in the establishment. 

It does not matter to Even.

The people walking by the booth in which he sat can tell who he is, and even if they couldn’t they’d know to stay away, they’re not stupid, Even will give them that. Even if he didn't look the way he did, most people would be fools to approach the area he was in; the space dedicated only to the richest and most valuable of customers, elevated on a grand balcony above the rest of the club, allowing everyone standing on the platform a full view of everything that was happening, every last detail was within Even's sightline.

His fingers wrap around the glass of Whiskey before him, rings clicking against it, his eyes trailing over the crowd gathered around the illuminated stage. Heels touch the ground, the sound unheard from the beat of the music, and he looks down at the seductive expression of the girl gripping the pole, pale blue lingerie clinging to her porcelain skin as she lifts herself up in the air once more, muscles tensing and shifting as the eyes upon her get hungrier, desperation overcoming them, sweaty hands gripping the bills they throw onto the stage, some holding onto them in hopes of the dancer gracing them with the opportunity to tuck it into the edge of her lacy G-String. 

He meets the gaze of the man before him. The shakiness of his hands is far too obvious. His white shirt is crumpled, lines running over the worn-out material, his pants far too big on him, clear by the way he keeps pulling them up, the indent of a ring is obvious on his left hand. The man lifts the offending hand, rubbing it over the tip of his reddened nose, and Even knows what he wants to ask for without the words being spoken. The knuckles are bruised. The indent is fresh. The bruise on the man’s eye is clear even in the dark. 

A man choosing his vice over his lover. Typical.

“A favour would require you to give me something in return once I wish for your debts to be repaid. You don’t seem like the type of man to have anything I would want that I do not already have.”

A beat of silence. The music is loud but Even can practically hear the deep breaths of the man, the cracking of his knuckles as he clenches his fists.

“Now," Even continues, voice calm and firm, "even if you did have something, I simply cannot indulge you. See, I am not working right now, why would you come to a man who is not working and ask him to do his job?”

A gulp, and Even has to hold in a sigh of annoyance.

He leans back in his seat instead, fingertips still holding the cigarette as he raises it to his lip.

The man recognizes his mistakes.

“F-forgive me, Sir, I did not mean to be disrespectful. If you wish, I can make a call and get an appointment?”

The sigh Even lets out is unavoidable.

He taps his fingers against the glass surface of the table before him, trailing the lines of the tattoos covering his hands with his gaze; he can feel the stares of Noora, Mikael, and Adam, and he knows the person in front of him has his eyes set downwards, whether it be in shame or pure terror, Even did not know, nor did he particularly care.

A glance to the side. Noora looks at him with pity in her eyes. She always did have a soft spot for others, no matter how many times Even reminded her there was no place for such behaviour in their line of business.

 _People need people,_ she’d say, _and they need you._

But they didn’t need him. They needed someone to fight their battles, to do what they themselves weren’t brave enough to do. They didn’t need him. They needed someone with a spine.

He waves his hand to the side. He knew he’d say no the request eventually, but now was not the time to start a fight. There was no need for him to refuse to help on the day the man was--judging by the stench of beer coming from him--trying to drown his sorrows while carrying the bruises of the fight he had over his--soon to be ex--wife.

“Arrange a meeting.”

Even sighs as the burn of the whiskey travels down his throat, the gratitude the man is speaking of going unheard. The glass hits the table before him, the liquid splashing against the edges as Even looks up just as a figure walks by the edge of the balcony railing. He does not care, it doesn’t matter who it is, they don’t matter to him, but the person glances at him regardless, and even in the darkness Even can see their eyes trailing across the scars on his face, questions which they will never have answered filling their gaze. He lifts his eyebrow, the mark slashed through it travelling upwards with the movement, and the man scurries away. 

Typical.

The burn and the rage he would’ve felt when he was a teenager--young and filled with naive ideas about the future and the humanity of others--had been extinguished completely, now all that is left is a tinge of amusement. A huff of laughter and nothing more.

The ash gathers at the edge of the cigarette, embers falling as he drags the ashtray closer to him. He knows it will be filled with remains by the end of the night, and he knows Noora will click her tongue and look at him with disdain, a frown on her red-stained lips as she bites her tongue to stop herself from repeating the same old speech she had given him before. Regardless, Even taps his finger on the edge of it, watching the remains fall down before he lifts it up to his lips, inhaling once again and feeling the stretch of his lungs before he blows it all out, nerves settling if only a tiny bit. 

“When is the funeral for the Architect?”

The name makes shackles rise in Even’s mind, the memories of their last few encounters being filled with blood and rage. Anger at the failure to deliver the correct amount of product. Rage at the severing of their long-lasting ties. Betrayal because of Even’s refusal to invite the drug lord to a party he was planning. Childish behaviour.

Pettiness filling the last remains of their already fragile and turbulent partnership.

And now he was dead, and Even wasn’t at all surprised at the lack of invitation to the send-off. It didn’t particularly matter regardless, he was one fuckup away from making Even send the old man to the grave himself.

Noora seems to notice the tension in Even’s shoulders, or maybe she was simply trying not to reprimand him over the smoking, but he could feel the glances she continued to throw at him.

Adam’s question hangs in the air as he throws his arm back at the edge of the booth, hand dangerously close to Mikael’s shoulder. But that was to be expected. The two had been skirting around each other for far too long. Even was tempted to simply lock them up in a room and threaten to throw them to the dogs if they didn’t get over this bullshit.

But he doesn't do it.

Instead, he ignores the proximity, and he answers the question.

“Monday. They’ve taken a while to do the autopsy, the sons were almost begging them to find something to prove that he had been offed by something other than his failing heart.”

They roll their eyes. They knew what the Magnusson children were like. Entitled. Spoiled. _Brats_. 

Regardless of the humble--and outright miserable--beginnings to their lives, they morphed into something unrecognizable once their father turned from Arthur Magnusson, a loving father simply trying to make money to survive, to the Architect, a cruel and mysterious figure with an ego far too big for a man of his lowly intelligence. And Even didn’t stand for it. His relationship with the deceased man didn’t require them to be anything more than business associates. The drugs the Architect provided were all that Even needed to keep the operation running. 

“Which one is taking the business over again? Niko?” Mikael speaks as Even downs the rest of his whiskey, his throat burning at the liquid when he feels Noora nudge his shin with her heel, her face apologetic when he looks at her. She's always been in tune with his emotions, after all, ever since their parents had introduced them to each other when they were children, Even three years older than her and filled with disdain for the fragile-looking girl, but it didn't take long for her to prove that she was not one to be pushed around.

Noora nods as she runs the tip of her finger over the edge of her water-filled glass, red nail polish on the hand she had pressed up against the black tabletop drawing attention to itself with each tap of her fingertips.

“He’s the older one, after all.”

“Insufferable, however.”

Adam’s words rang true. Even knows fine well of the boy’s insatiable appetite for power and control, as well as the instability and lack of caution thrumming through his veins. He was one of the many catalysts which lead to their arrangement being broken, after all. Even couldn’t have that around his business. Unacceptable.

“They both are.”

The ash falls off of his cigarette, he lifts it once more, trying to get the most of it even though he knows he will light another one straight after.

“Are they coming to the party?”

Mikael’s question was answered immediately, Noora vehemently shakes her head without even looking at Even.

She knew of the situation. She knew of the time Even told the Architect he would not be inviting him after the man asked about it. If the conversation had ended on the resigned look on Arthur’s face then the situation would hardly be memorable. Hurt feelings did not matter. But that was not it. Niko was there, and Niko wasn’t getting what he wanted, and he seemed to have forgotten just who he was talking to. He got in Even’s face, spit flying as he yelled and screamed while Even sat in the chair, elbow leaning on the armrest, fist propped up and his face resting on it, tattooed knuckles pressing into the scar trailing across his jaw and his right cheek. It didn’t take long for Even to get tired of the yelling, of the noise, and so he let out a resigned sigh and did what he knew would bring results. He pulled out his gun and aimed it at the young boy’s chest. 

_Even, we’ve known each other for years,_ Arthur had said, and Even merely scoffed. 

_Yes, and so it will be even more painful for you if I am the one to kill this insolent child,_ the words left his mouth in something akin to a growl. And the silence left behind was deafening.

“If they came it would turn into a disaster immediately, no money would get raised.”

Noora takes a sip of the water and all Even could do was glare at the empty glass before him.

Hand raising, he calls the waitress over. A pretty little thing. Young, red hair, lovely eyes, pink glossy lips, and such a lack of nervousness that it was almost impressive.

They order another round and Even smirks at the gaze Noora throws at the girl once she turns to walk over to the bar on the edge of the balcony.

“Can I get her on the guest list?”

Even snorts, raising his eyebrows as Noora straightens her back, tugging on her tie and fixing it as her blazer pulls on her chest, a charming smile appearing on her usually tense features the moment their drinks arrive. The pretty blush covering the waitress' cheeks and the soft smile adorning her shiny lips did nothing but boost Noora's already inflated ego.

But then, once the girl is at the bar, Even watches as she looks at the watch on her wrist, a look of resignation and slight trepidation appearing on her previously relaxed face as she puts the tray down, the second waiter behind the bar quickly grabbing the platter and smiling in what appears to be sympathy. She clenches her fists and on shaky legs she walks downstairs, travelling down the spiral staircase until Even can see her once again, quickly walking over to the mysterious door placed on the left hand side of the illuminated stage. The door which Even had noticed the moment they stepped inside the club but simply did not bother entering, not yet. But he now knew he would have to do it that very night. 

The conversation around him turns to white noise as he suddenly sets his stare on the person who made him not want to come to the club at all ever since he had heard he was the owner of the newly opened establishment.

Elias.

He knew of the reputation which followed the man before he ever even met him. Cruel; greedy; a cunt. But it does not matter to Even, status and rumours are pointless when it comes to people you do not know.

However, the man carries a certain sort of aura around him. His white shirt unbuttoned almost halfway down his hair covered chest as he grips the handle to the door on the right side of the stage, sleeves rolled up and revealing the dark hair covering his arms, a golden watch on his wrist. A fake. Even could tell even from afar. Elias glances at the object once before running his hand through his slicked-back hair. 

Arrogance. That’s what the man omits.

Even is just about to scoff, drink his overpriced whiskey and leave the club, never to come back and be forced to lay his eyes upon the man again. But then he sees something, someone, that he simply can’t bear to look away from.

Golden curls lay atop their head, their casual clothes almost making them look like a far too young customer that had managed to sneak inside the club but Even knows better than to think that, Elias would never treat a customer so harshly. 

They raise their face for a moment and Even can see it's a boy, a young boy who suddenly turns his gaze to the floor, strands of hair covering his face as Elias grips his arm and pulls him out of the room he was in, weaving through the crowd of customers. Even’s hand clenches at the sight, rings digging into his fingers as he pushes his cigarette into the ashtray, extinguishing it completely, stare not wavering from the duo crossing the room below him. 

Dark jeans clung to thick and firm looking thighs and the gaze of the patrons of the club followed the boy even when his outfit revealed far less than the stripper right before them. 

Even observes them carefully, trying to decipher why the boy was even here, why was he in the back rooms, presumably where the dancers were before their performances, and why was Elias leading him right to the mysterious door which the girl just went through?

The door leading to the unfamiliar, and suddenly Even's desire to learn what hides behind it increases as he watches Elias pull the boy in closer, pushing his greasy face next to the kid's and whispering something into his ear, causing him to flinch away from the spit hitting his cheek. The words were harsh, a threat, that much Even could tell. And suddenly the door was open, the boy being thrown through it, stumbling and nearly falling as Elias shut the entrance once again.

And Even was left to wonder what was happening to him.

However, it didn’t take long for Even to figure it out.

The music keeps playing as the bills are thrown onto the stage; the people around him keep talking; the dancer doing something with their beautiful body that would usually capture Even’s eye but all he could focus on was the godforsaken door and the many men walking through it.

Because that was the most distinct feature of the room, the constant stream of the drunken customers trailing inside, coming out a while later with flushed cheeks and a wide grin. But Even's gaze was focused on Elias. It seems as if all of the people desperately desiring to get to the other side of the club had to go through Elias first who would hand them a piece of paper and direct them towards the door where they would show the pass to a rather large and intimidating bodyguard, the door finally opening up. And Even’s curiosity grew.

Drinks pile up, the ashtray fills with cigarette butts, water spills onto the table as Noora laughs at whatever it was that Mikael said, her tie loose, her blazer thrown onto the side and the two top buttons of her crisp white shirt undone but Even still looks the same as he had at the beginning of the day, only now he sits quietly, expression forlorn, appearance casual and unnerved, but his gaze keeps coming back to the door; his thoughts occupied by the picture of the timid boy.

There’s nothing in the city he doesn’t know about. If he wants a piece of information, he has it within minutes, served to him with apologies and explanations as to why he hadn't had it before, and yet here he was. Sitting metres away from a room which contained something he knew nothing about. The wonder within him got covered with a thick layer of frustration.

“We’re heading out. You coming, Boss?” Noora’s voice permeates his thoughts. Eyes flickering to hers. Her lipstick faded, the majority of it on the empty glass before her.

A shake of his head and he downs the rest of his drink.

“No, you guys go ahead, I need to check something out.”

Mikael stops where he was sitting up, Adam and Noora’s eyes focused on him as he pushes his pack of cigarettes into the pocket of his blazer, pulling on the edges of it and making sure there was not a single detail out of line.

“Do you need us to stay?”

He pushes his blazer to the side, the side of his gun glinting from the red light of the room. “No, I’ll be fine.”

They know he’ll be fine. They know that even if he didn’t have the two guns around his hips and the knives strapped to his ankles he could still take care of himself but Even appreciates the sentiment regardless.

A rare--and slightly crooked--smile pulls on his lips.

“Alright, Boss, see you tomorrow.”

Their goodbyes are waved off, an all too familiar scowl back on his face, and as soon as they are out of sight Even takes count of his surroundings, carefully observing the customers and what they are doing, how many of them seem to be interested in the mysterious room, how many of them have gone in and come back out. He needs to be careful.

The booth beneath him creaks when he moves but the sound is drowned out by the thumping bass. No one dares to look at him as he throws several bills onto the table, pushing his hands into his pockets and walking across the balcony, placing a hand on the railing of the staircase and slowly walking down them. The main floor of the club is loud, busy, far too crowded for someone of Even's calibre, but he ignores his discomfort, no one pays any mind to him anyways, the customers remain focused on the stage regardless of what he does, it does not matter. 

Glitter flies through the air; the diamonds covering the skimpy outfit the dancer is wearing shimmer and practically beg for everyone’s attention, but all Even can see is the face of the man that hadn't informed him of the activities happening in _his_ city.

A few more steps, and Even is standing before the main bar, the dark marble counter shining from the red lights, drinks got spilt on top of it as people gathered around it, talking over each other and whistling at the lewdly dressed waiters, desperately trying to garner their attention while the guests sitting on the stools faced the stage. Even leans against the counter, elbow pushing on the firm glass as he turns his head to his left, gazing at the secluded corners of the club behind the mass of people, bodyguards surrounding them and guarding whatever was going on behind the secretive walls. Lapfuls of flesh and far too much glitter as the men get something to jerk off over once they go home. That’s all it is.

Elias notices him, fear flashes through his eyes as the bass continues to boom, the floor vibrating beneath Even’s expensive shoes.

His hand goes up in the air, eyebrow arching as he waves him over. 

It is unmistakable when Elias gulps and Even has to hold himself back from rolling his eyes in frustration. The seconds tick by and all Even can think about is how much time this idiotic man is wasting.

Fear is useful. Practical and quick. It can get people to do whatever it is you wish them to do as long as you know what they are scared of, what they run away from but in this case it is nothing but irritating.

The man stands before him, and Even looks him up and down, tongue darting out as he finally sighs, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Now, Elias, I didn’t exactly expect this from you so soon after opening this charming establishment.”

The words strike a chord. Eyes widening; a strand of greasy hair falling down his forehead; golden watch digging into his wrist, all of these details are easily caught by Even and Elias swallows thickly.

Even would laugh at the shock and terror if he was in the mood to be amused.

“B-boss, wha-what do you mean?”

Turning to his side, Even leans against the counter, eyes still on Elias, not moving once, and he can tell the man is desperate for him to look away, to get rid of the intensity bared upon him, but Even refuses.

“I didn’t think you’d hide something from me, something about your business nonetheless, when I have been nothing but kind to you.”

His face, shrouded in the red light of the club, bares an expression of faux hurt. Elias knows it is not sincere but he still trembles, running a hand over his sweat clad face before he leans closer to Even.

“W-what have I been hiding?”

A wicked smirk appears on Even’s face as he tilts his head towards the door.

“Whatever it is behind that door. Now,” He says slowly, slapping a hand against the counter, rings hitting the surface as he stuffs his other hand in the pocket of his pants. “Why don’t you show me?”

The speed at which the man moves is almost comical, a huff of laughter coming out of Even as he steps closer to the edge of the bar, the part of it which allows everyone from behind it to walk freely. Elias throws him a nervous grin as he wipes his sweaty palms against his wrinkled shirt.

With each step he takes he gets closer to the truth and the trepidation arises. The fear which once showed on the man’s face now slowly creeps into Even’s mind. It is not an emotion he feels for himself. No, he has no worry of the sorts, the fear is for an unknown figure. An unnamed boy who seems to already have some sort of power over him, even at such a young age. 

But fear has no place in his life.

A tan hand grips the doorknob and turns. The click is unheard over the music, but Even knows it is there.

The door slowly opens and he steps into the long hallway, the lights in it the same as they were outside. Red, the very same colour as the carpets adorning the floor.

It isn’t what Even expected. It's nothing.

It isn’t a mysterious room. There isn’t anything happening. It is a simple, dark hallway at the end of which is an elevator.

The door clicks shut behind him, his hand tensing in his pocket as Elias comes to stand beside him, the stench of strong cologne clearer in the empty space.

“I didn’t mean to keep this a secret from you, Boss. It is simply a part of the business I run.”

The steps they take echo in the hall, the sound of the music behind them barely heard at this point.

“And what exactly is it that you do?”

They stop in front of the elevator, a stubby finger pressing the button as Elias shuffles on the spot, looking up at Even.

“It’s a well thought out business, Sir. Red Curtains is, in fact, a strip club, it is not a cover-up for anything, it's always meant to be just that, this is simply an additional service we offer,” The door before them opens and they step in, Even’s gaze focuses on the entrance before him becoming smaller and smaller after Elias presses the button to the second floor.

“There are three rooms on the second floor, all of them offering different services for different clientele. Sexual favours that they crave.”

They step out of the elevator into a vast square room once the movement halts, the door opening before them. Even's gaze falls upon a counter placed in the middle of the room, sat behind it a large man dressed in all black, the slick turtleneck covering his wide body as he glances up at them, standing from the chair the moment he notices just who it is. However, Even isn't looking at him any longer, he focuses on his surroundings instead. The white walls a stark contrast to the darkness of the grey floor below, and yet there was something that stood out even more. In the middle of all three walls rests a door, and above each door a red light, unblinking, unlit.

“The rooms are divided into categories,” Elias steps forward, turning towards Even before he lifts his hand to the door at the right. “The first room, The Ballroom, is the cheapest one, yes, but the services remain exquisite. The reason for the price is simply the limits of the girl inside, she is a bit frail, sensitive to some things, and so we wish for her to remain the most, ah how do I put it? Vanilla.”

Even nods at the words, frowning as he turns his head around the room. The man at the counter has sat back down and he does not meet his gaze.

Good.

“The second room,” An arm flays to the left wall. “Is L’Amour. The girl inside is firey. Headstrong, stubborn at times, but still willing to break to your will and fulfil your every desire. The price is higher for her, but it is worth it.”

The seconds tick by in the silence of the room, Even’s shoes clicking on the floor as he steps closer to the counter, hands in his pockets while he keeps his gaze on the very last door.

“And that one?”

Elias rushes to his side, a confident smirk on his face, and Even detests it.

“Ah, yes. That is my prize possession.” The word nearly brings a grimace to Even’s face, but all that shows is an arch of his brow, his scar moving with the lift.

“That is Juliet’s Lounge. The most expensive room of them all, but what is inside of it is worth every penny. He’s quite a pretty boy, yes, and you might think he's far too fragile for what he goes through but his tolerance for any sort of behaviour is incredibly high. His willingness to do as he is told and to obey is far greater than that of most. Because he can withstand the most, there are also more toys, props, accessories, inside of the room. He has been tied up in any way the customer desires but the thing that most appreciate about him is that he can be hit multiple times, he has been in the past, and he takes it like a champ.”

The grin on Elias’ face slips away as Even remains silent, stoic in his stance.

“A-anyways,” Elias stutters out, rushing over to the counter. “Every customer that wishes to engage with them comes to me at the bar, I give them a pass and they are then allowed to come up. Once you reach this floor, my dear friend here shows you the options. There are several photos, and even videos, which you can view before your purchase, all of them displaying their appearance and skill. Half of the payment is made upfront, the other half is at the end. We charge hourly, so it varies. After the payment, the rules are made clear. Obviously, for room 3, there are the least amount of rules, and so there is not much to say. But every other room has more of them. But the main one is to not bring any serious, irrefutable injury to the subjects. If they feel as if they are in serious danger there is a button that they can press which then makes the light above the door turn on. Immediately the session is cut short and the customer is taken care of.”

Even looks at him then but he frowns at something. There is no sound, the rooms are occupied and yet he cannot hear a thing.

“Are the rooms soundproof?”

Elias nods straight away, a greedy glint in his dark eyes and Even knows that Elias is aware that he will probably make a sale.

“Yes, nothing that happens inside the rooms can be heard out here, we try to make it as private as possible.”

The creak of the chair is heard in the silence that follows. Elias shuffles once again. 

Even turns towards him. He doesn't need to think about it, he knows what he’s going to do already.

“I want the boy.”

Elias’ mood changes drastically, almost as if he was invigorated by the mere promise of money.

“Y-yes, of course, Boss, do you wish to see any photos of him?”

Even shakes his head.

“That won’t be necessary.”

There is no need for him to see him. He only wishes to make sure the boy is okay, to see if the place will need to be shut down or not. It's merely to protect himself and his business, he thinks, it has nothing to do with anything else, he needs to see if the employees are safe.

“How long do you want him for?” 

He tilts his head, the lights above him shining bright as he looks at Elias.

“What time do you close?”

Elias blinks at him. The seconds carry on and Even grows impatient and finally, Elias seems to notice for he jumps slightly.

“5 am.”

Even hums, nodding and fixing the tie around his neck.

“Okay, then until 5 am.”

Elias coughs at the words in shock and yet Even could see the delight in his features.

“Boss, that’s 50,000 kroner.”

An arch of Even’s brow and Elias simmers down.

“Yes.”

“Okay, so 25,000 beforehand, and 25,000 afterwards.”

Even raises his brows, he knows he doesn’t have that amount of cash in his wallet, not that time, and he knows that he’ll get what he wants regardless.

“My people will bring the money tomorrow.”

A flash of stubbornness appears in Elias’ eyes but Even simply stares at him, tilting his chin up, daring him to defy him--his gun feels heavy in the holster.

Elias lowers his gaze, nodding shakily and wringing his hands in front of him.

“Okay, Boss, you got it.”

The man behind the counter writes something down as Even pushes his hands in his pockets, Elias nervously glancing towards the door of the room.

“There’s a customer inside right now, if you could just wa--” The door opens, cutting Elias off and drawing their attention towards the source of the sound.

The footsteps echo in the hall, the sound of the zipper being pulled up clear for a split second before the door closes shut, and a middle-aged man steps out, his appearance debauched, beard patchy and clothes wrinkled.

Even’s fingers twitch, a desire to grip his gun or at least one of his knives and take the man out flourishing within him. But he can’t, there is no reason to do so, and he doesn’t wish to attract any attention to himself.

“Good job on getting that one, Elias, that kid can take a lot.”

The word kid smells like burning flesh coming off of the man’s tongue and Even clenches his fists.

Kid. Even resists the urge to scoff.

“You can go in now, Mr Næsheim.”

Elias’ voice rings in his ears and he nods once, trailing his gaze over the previous customer, memorizing every single detail of his face in hopes of meeting him once again and ending his existence.

A step after step and he is standing in front of the large door, a hand gripping the handle firmly, his rings clinking against the golden metal, and he turns it.

The lights are dimmed, the edges of the room lit up in soft lights but only barely, illuminating the room well enough for Even to see the details of it as he closes the door shut.

On the right-hand side of the room, the wall was covered in toys, whips, canes, handcuffs, all hanging off of shelves and hooks, and right beneath it lay a small white cupboard, the drawers of which had several labels on them. Toys; creams; towels. The rest of the walls were blank; after all, the main event lay on the queen-sized bed which was centred right in front of the door, the white sheets tangled at the bottom of it and in the middle of it... 

He inhales sharply at the sight. The boy wriggled in one spot, his breathing heavy, clearly trying to calm himself, but Even can sense the panic emanating from within him. 

The gun in his holster suddenly feels heavier, closer to his palm than ever before, but he can’t do a thing. Not when his gaze is busy trailing over the young boy in front of him. His arms are tied up behind his arched back, ropes digging into the pale smooth skin, crisscrossing against the soft flesh as he lets out puffs of breath into the wet pillow which his face was pressed into, the mask laying over his eyes still secure. Even follows the arch of his back, gaze landing on his ass, the redness of his gaping hole, but he averts his gaze quickly, a flush covering his face. It wasn’t his place to look. And so he looks lower and lower until he sees the spreader bar holding his legs apart. His ankles cuffed onto the black device, and no matter what the boy did, he was left defenceless. What catches his eye, however, are the red lines all over his thighs and his ass cheeks. The welts clearly left by a whip or a crop, and judging by the redness of them, they were inflicted by the man that had left the room right before him. Even inhales sharply at the thought of someone doing this and leaving the boy without any sort of care.

A sigh escapes him and he steps closer, shoes sinking into the soft carpet beneath him until he reaches the edge of the bed.

The boy shuffles, moving his head and drawing Even’s attention toward a glint of silver shining off of his ear, matching the glimmer coming from the hoop in his nose. 

Even leans forward, furrowing his brows as he looks closely at his features, trying to decipher just how old he was.

But he realizes there are more important matters to attend to.

“Are you in pain?”

A nod of confirmation and Even takes in a deep breath.

His eyes trail over his form, the tension he seems to be holding in his shoulders, the trembling of his legs and arms, and Even knows he is afraid.

“Keep the blindfold on.” 

He knows he doesn’t need to say it, he was trained to obey orders and not do anything sudden or unprompted but Even feels the need to say it regardless. He doesn’t want to frighten the kid with the scars covering his features.

“I’m going to untie you, I’m not going to touch you anywhere I don’t need to, don’t worry, I just want you to be a bit more comfortable, okay?”

He waits for a nod of confirmation and the second he gets it he places a knee on the edge of the bed, lifting his hands and gripping the rope tying the boy's arms together and he starts to undo the knots with careful fingers, pulling on the restraints and revealing the irritated skin beneath, the indents in his arms, and finally, he is able to throw the cord to the side. His grip suddenly appears on Isak’s forearms, holding him in place as he gently rubs the skin, trying to get rid of any soreness he may have before he carefully moves one arm, allowing him to stretch it as he repeats the process on the other one, his eyes stopping on the small tattoo covering his left wrist. The lines connecting 5 dots in a shape resembling a rhombus, but another dot lay above the object, and Even realizes what it is straight away. The Scutum Constellation. A shield. The memory of him and his mother laying on the grass in the middle of the night, her finger pointing towards the sky flasheS in his mind before he shakes himself out of his stupor, finding himself stroking over the ink with his thumb. 

His fingertips tingle where they meet the heat of the boy’s body, but he carries on with his movements until the boy is finally free, and the sigh of relief he lets out is reward enough for Even.

“Does any part of your arms hurt?”

He shakes his head.

Even exhales slowly, avoiding looking at any part of the naked form he shouldn’t look at as he moves lower to the edge of the bed, undoing the spreader bar and putting it to the side. He repeats the process on Isak’s ankles, rubbing the skin, massaging it in order to avoid leaving the boy in any sort of pain.

“Lay down on your stomach.”

It is not a surprise when he obeys immediately, his muscles tensing for a moment as he stretches on the mattress before relaxing, melting into the silken sheets.

“You can speak if you want to,” The words are quiet, comforting as Even moves away from the bed, walking over to the drawers he saw before and quickly opening the one with the label ‘creams.’ 

“Yes, Sir.” His voice almost goes unheard and yet a shiver runs down Even’s spine at the melodic sound of it.

His gaze focuses on the contents of the drawer, the many creams and lotions placed within it, all helpful items that should've been used by the previous person but the fucker chose to take his pleasure and leave right after and Even could barely breathe from how angry he was. 

With shaky hands he finally grabs what he was looking for; the rubbing alcohol, cotton pads, and some soothing cream, all made to help the poor boy stop hurting. 

He pushes the drawer shut with his knee before walking back over to the bed. “I’m gonna have to touch you where you’ve been hit, is that okay?”

Even though the blindfold obstructs his view, Even can still see the frown on his features but the boy nods nevertheless.

Sitting down on the bed, he pours the alcohol onto a cotton pad and drags it over the welts on the boy’s oversensitive skin, starting at the top of his ass.

They sit in silence, the only thing heard an occasional whimper from the blond on the bed but Even can’t stop, no matter how much he wishes he could, he had to take care of him.

“What’s your name?” The question left his mouth before he could even think about it but there was no time to take it back as the boy already answered, his words slurred and rushed, almost as if he was worried Even would do something to him had he not answered quickly enough.

“Isak, Sir.”

Isak.

The name melts like honey on his tongue and he longs to use it every day for the rest of his existence. But it is not his place. The boy--no matter how enchanting--is not his.

A frown appears on his face as his fingers dip lower, his eyes glancing upwards at the youthful face of the boy before him.

“How old are you, Isak?”

Not a word is spoken and Even could’ve taken that as a response, he knew Isak wouldn't admit it, he could tell from the tension in his body, the hitching of his breathing, the way he visibly prepared for Even to strike him. 

From the trembling of Isak’s thighs, and the teeth digging into his bottom lip, his features far too youthful to be over the age of 18, he could tell the boy was underage, and suddenly his desire to punish anyone that had ever touched him grew.

“I’m not a cop, you can tell me.”

He set the cotton pad aside, grabbing the cream instead and uncapping it.

“That’s not very reassuring, you could be lying, it’s just your word, it doesn’t mean much.”

The body beneath his fingertips stiffens, a strangled noise coming from deep within Isak, a mixture between a sob and a whimper, and Even already knows an apology is right at the tip of his language.

A huff of laughter comes out of him as he proceeds to rub the cream in.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. You don’t really know me, my word doesn’t mean anything. Smart boy.”

The silence envelopes them once again, and the second Even fulfils his duty, he removes his hands from the soft flesh beneath him.

The bed moves, mattress shifting as he gets up, grabbing all of the things he had taken out and throwing them back into the drawer.

His eyes trail over the room, and finally, he catches sight of the switches and the dimmer, quickly walking over to them and lowering the lights even further.

The blankets lay discarded on the floor and he carefully grips one of them, pulling it over Isak’s body and ignoring the whimper the boy lets out at the contact of the soft garment with his hot skin.

He knows he mustn’t be near him, he doesn’t belong in the empty space beside the boy, and so he delicately sits down onto the leather chair beside the bed, leaning back against the cushion as he takes out the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, opening it with nimble fingers and pulling one out along with a lighter.

“Go to sleep, rest, no one will bother you for the rest of the night. I’d leave you alone too if I didn’t know Elias would get someone in here the second I left, regardless if I paid for the whole night or not.”

The cigarette sits between his plush lips, the lighter flickering before a flame bursts out of it, his large hand cupping the cigarette as he lights it, throwing his head back while he inhales the smoke into his lungs and finally lets it out, letting it fill the space before him, the veil making it impossible to see anything, but he still catches sight of Isak’s silhouette. The way the boy seems to have wrapped his arms around the pillow beneath his head, clutching to the object as his back rises and falls with his breaths.

“I’m 17.”

His hand pauses mid-air, eyebrow arching as he places his elbow on the armchair, leaning his scarred face onto his palm.

“I’m sorry,” The sorrow he feels for the boy bleeds through the words, and yet Isak says nothing about the clear pity, he merely takes in a deep breath and shuffles in the sheets.

"It's okay," Isak whispers. "I have a debt to repay."

Even's eyes trail over his form, smoke billowing out of his cigarette and chair creaking as he moves. 

Before he can speak he hears the sound of Isak's deep breathing. The boy had fallen asleep.

Even does not speak, he hardly even moves from his spot. 

All that matters is that the boy before him is not touched by anyone that did not earn the right to do so. He would make sure of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, after talking about it for way too long I've decided to post the prologue to this fic!  
> I don't have a posting schedule so I'm letting you know in advance the chapters will be posted sporadically aka whenever I finish them.  
> I thrive off of comments and hearing your guys' thoughts so let me know what you think!!
> 
> If you have any questions about this fic, or if you have any prompts you'd like me to include in this fic, let me know on my Tumblr: isaksforelsket  
> And if you want to listen to me bitch about writing, or anything else, head over to my Twitter: vandervaltersen


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